


You Know My Name

by dotstronaut



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Amnesia, Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Angels, Angst, Animal Aspect, Aziraphale and Crowley Met Before The Fall (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Crowley will start going by Crowley soon i promise, Demon Aziraphale (Good Omens), Demons, Forced Amnesia, Galapagos, Gan Eden | Garden of Eden | Jannah, M/M, Names, Present Tense, Religious Conflict, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Shapeshifting, crowley is a vessel for my religious disillusion, only time will tell, will i ever stop writing from aziraphale's point of view, writing this has already taught me so much
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-07-09 19:23:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19893046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dotstronaut/pseuds/dotstronaut
Summary: In the beginning there were two dumbasses... but they don't look how you expect. Because in a universe where the Snake of Eden never fell, who's job is it to tempt the first humans?The demon(oddly familiar, but with a scale or two here and there, dusty blonde hair with dirty roots, odd eyes)putters and grins. “Oh good. Truth be told, I’m a little nervous. First big assignment and all.”“I didn’t know demons could feel nervous. Is that just your thing, or...”Were all angels this conversational? He couldn't remember, but his fellow demons certainly weren't. It was refreshing to hear full sentences, to be asked about himself.“Ah, I’m afraid I’m quite unique in that regard... the others would think me daft if I told them.” The demon answers, curling inward a little self-consciously. The angel suspects the other demons would do a little more than pass silent judgement if they found out. He smiles despite himself, while he carefully stirs the surface of blurry, half-formed memories. Tiny ripples warble outwards.*Chapter Three Posted!





	1. In The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> My modern designs for this AU, a comic of the first chapter, and other related artworks are on my tumblr: https://dotstronaut.tumblr.com/tagged/ineffable_reptiles
> 
> The bug to write/sketch this hit me hard and I haven't known peace since: a conversation in Eden to reveal some of the backstory of this Role Reversal AU, which is the only thing I've been thinking about all day as I draw this scene. Please feel free to ask questions! I'm definitely going to draw more of this but I'll write more too if people want me to. I'm don't typically write for fandom so this is an unusual occurrence for me but I do have a few more ideas I could pursue.

They are in a garden. The first garden ever, actually. He had been sneaking around so carefully, but when your animal aspect is as large and lumbering as his, it's tough to be stealthy. So when a clearing opened up to reveal the guardian of Eden, he'd expected opposition, or at least interrogation. Instead, the large demon tortoise finds a very relaxed angel leaning against an outcropping. The reclining figure observes the tortoise and dips his head of long red curls once in acknowledgement. He knew all the animals in Eden. This wasn't one of them.

The galapagos-looking creature almost keeps moving towards where he can hear the humans bumbling about, but pauses, confused.

“Aren’t you... going to stop me?”

The angel looks at him, equally confused, “... am i supposed to?”

The demon transforms into his humanoid form. One that was... oddly familiar, but with a scale or two here and there. Dusty blonde hair with dirty roots. The eyes are off. As the angel is not being particularly threatening, the demon reclines slightly as well, flumping over onto an elbow in the grass and letting his wings flutter out. The angel tenses slightly, but doesn't do anything.

“I kind of figured...?” he trails off, not sure what he figured the guardian of Eden would do, and not wanting to cause insult. His expectations hadn't accounted for this lack of hostility.

“Well... I won’t tell if you won’t.” The angel doesn't move other than to smile conspiratorially, trying his best to continue looking relaxed as his mind races. Something unlocks.

The demon putters and grins. “Oh good. Truth be told, I’m a little nervous. First big assignment and all.”

“I didn’t know demons _could_ feel nervous. Is that just your thing, or...”

Were all angels this conversational? He couldn't remember, but his fellow demons certainly weren't. It was refreshing to hear full sentences, to be asked about himself.

“Ah, I’m afraid I’m quite unique in that regard... the others would think me daft if I told them.” The demon answers, curling inward a little self-consciously. The angel suspects the other demons would do a little more than pass silent judgement if they found out. He smiles despite himself, while he carefully stirs the surface of blurry, half-formed memories. Tiny ripples warble outwards.

“Don’t worry, your secrets are safe with me, Azir—UH" he panics, voice pitching up and floundering “I mean... um... what’s your, what should i— "

“You know my name,” the demon cuts in. It isn’t accusatory, his voice is quiet and reverent. Shocked. There’s no question in it. “But how...”

 _How do you remember_ goes unspoken, and unanswered. The angel can’t say — won’t say. Those memories were forbidden, dangerous, tucked safely away... he hadn't meant—

He shouldn’t remember, but he does anyway.

“Did,” the demon gulps and his voice is almost timid, “... _do_ you know me?”

The angel looks away. Heaven doesn't know. Nobody knows. They _can't_. His mouth starts making vague noises of denial before his brain can catch up. Words tumble out of his mouth. _What of course not nobody remembers the ones that fell don't be ridiculous i have no idea what you're talking about etc_

The angel squints warily at his companion, to see if any of the unconvincing lies have stuck. The air escapes his lungs at the sight of him. Tortoiseshell eyes shining, both familiar and unfamiliar, desperate and hopeful. Wanting. What must it be like, walking around feeling like something's been lost or forgotten, but never remembering enough of it to properly let it go?

"Listen... I don't know. I can't remember many details, I'm sorry... I can't--"

"Say it."

"What?"

"My real name. I want to hear it."

"I don't think that's..." _a good idea. going to help. what you need._

"Please," and there are those eyes again, "just tell me."

The angel takes a deep breath, and then says the word like it’s been weighing down his tongue for centuries, like it’s his religion.

"Aziraphale."

And they both hear the stark reality of it. Like flash paper.

Azira _fell_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next, a meet cute that goes south REAL fast and a noodle angel that doesn't want to talk about his issues.


	2. Things Most Don't Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chill goes down Aziraphale’s spine and he frantically turns back to look at the others. He recognizes many of them. The angel that had spoken was high-ranking and beautiful. Lucifer - one of God’s favored ones. He stares past Aziraphale for a moment, surprised, before his beautiful face twists into a snarl. Anger ( _not righteous at all,_ Aziraphale decides) rolls off of him in waves. 
> 
> “So be it,” Lucifer spits, and opens his mind.
> 
> Aziraphale had often studied the plans for the humans. The ideas for the garden, for the paradise handmade for them, a new kind of being given a new kind of existence. The Almighty’s favorite idea of all: to make an animal in her own image and give it free will. _Completely corporeal, but clever and creative, and capable of their own kind of infinity._ He had absorbed all he could, enchanted by the idea. And he envied them. Just the smallest, tiniest bit of want that he tucked away in a remote fiber of his being. He used it to fuel a passion for God’s plan and his desire to make everything run as smoothly as possible. 
> 
> He feels that little bit of envy flare up unexpectedly as Lucifer calls to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember, you asked for it.
> 
> I drew more art, too: dotstronaut.tumblr.com/post/186559707123

Aziraphale had become caught up in the middle of an unfortunate altercation, that much was clear. He wasn’t a part of the regiment that had been ordered to march, but he also wasn’t a part of the group of angels who had gotten themselves just riled up enough to do something stupid, something loud and brash that could only end in tragedy. He wasn’t even where he was supposed to be (which was elsewhere), but what he _had_ done was nearly knock another angel down in his haste to get to his assigned post.

The other angel had been distracted, eyes cast down as he ruminated on his own thoughts, and moving at quite a pace. Aziraphale, arms full of heavenly parchment and plans for the earth (which he was quite excited about), hadn’t seen him. They knocked into each other and tripped, limbs tangling. Scrolls scattered everywhere and they just barely kept from falling by grabbing onto each other.

“Oh, I am dreadfully sorry! How clumsy of me,” Aziraphale exclaimed, letting go once he had his balance. He reached for a few of the papers as he glanced at the face of the other angel. Fire-colored curls framed a face with wide golden eyes that blinked as his intense introspection was replaced with awareness.

“S’alright, I should have been paying attention,” he said, as he cast his gaze around to take in the scattered documents. “I’ll help you gather them up.”

Aziraphale tutted and made a dismissive gesture with his free hand, unwilling to waste anymore of this angel’s time when he obviously had somewhere to be and something on his mind. “No, no, I’ll be fine, you go on.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positively.” Aziraphale already had most of them picked up, as they helpfully floated upwards so he wouldn't have to lean over. He cast a quick look over the angel, who still hesitated nearby with his hands slightly upturned. Hands that shimmered with stardust.

Aziraphale smiled, eyes crinkling. He did admire the makers and their imaginations. “I’m sure you have more important things to attend to. Don’t worry about me.”

The angel’s eyebrows furrowed slightly and he looked like he wanted to insist. A sharp voice cut across the two of them.

“There you are, Crawley!” Aziraphale was suddenly aware of a whole host of angels approaching, looking uncharacteristically irritated and determined. 

The maker angel flinched and turned to face them as they got close. He cast a wary glance at Aziraphale out of the corner of his eye. Aziraphale just looked confused, not recognizing the not-very-angelic nickname. He opened his mouth to greet the approaching angels and ask what had them radiating with ( _righteous?_ ) anger, but they were interrupted again by a loud trumpet that set his grace on edge. He couldn’t fathom why it was being sounded. It was unprecedented. It meant something terrible was happening. It was a call to action.

The angel in front of him ( _Crawley?_ ) paled and went still. Aziraphale turned to face the sound, documents still in his hands, forgotten. There was a regiment of angels approaching. They were in formation, in uniform, as Aziraphale had never seen outside of mandatory drills. At the head of the angel ranks were the Archangels. 

A chill goes down Aziraphale’s spine and he frantically turns back to look at the others. He recognizes many of them. The angel that had spoken was high-ranking and beautiful. Lucifer - one of God’s favored ones. He stares past Aziraphale for a moment, surprised, before his beautiful face twists into a snarl. Anger ( _not righteous at all_ , Aziraphale decides) rolls off of him in waves. 

“So be it,” he spits, and opens his mind.

Aziraphale had often studied the plans for the humans. The ideas for the garden, for the paradise handmade for them, a new kind of being given a new kind of existence. The Almighty’s favorite idea of all: to make an animal in her own image and give it free will. _Completely corporeal, but clever and creative, and capable of their own kind of infinity._ He had absorbed all he could, enchanted by the idea. And he envied them. Just the smallest, tiniest bit of want that he tucked away in a remote fiber of his being. He used it to fuel a passion for God’s plan and his desire to make everything run as smoothly as possible.  
  
He feels that little bit of envy flare up unexpectedly as Lucifer calls to it. A silent battle cry to rival the sound of the trumpet. His followers, with no formation to speak of and hardened visages, all prepare themselves for the unthinkable: to defy God’s plan. The temptation to join in, to take, to have for himself, is almost overpowering. He looks at the assembled rebellion and then back at the angel he just met, whose golden eyes are full of regret and despair. Aziraphale is overwhelmed by an emotion he’s never felt before.

_Sorrow._

“Aziraphale! _Ruswan!”_ Gabriel’s voice booms as the regiment gets close. “Get out of the way.”

Ethereal energy is beginning to swirl around the angels, tugging on soft red curls and making the parchments flutter in Aziraphale's hands, so he lets them go. He can't look away from the shell-shocked angel. _Ruswan._

Lucifer growls, _"To me, Crawley,"_ and reaches out to grab his shoulder.

Aziraphale, small but strong, grabs the angel and bodily hauls him, throwing him out of the way of Lucifer’s grip. A member of the angel regiment grabs the maker and pulls him through the line before he can right himself, leaving no room for discussion. Ruswan finds himself in the air, headed away from the battle. As a delayed reaction, his wings flash open and he hauls back on the angel carrying him in blind panic. He watches as the floor of heaven falls open with thunderous crack, and the regimented forces shove both defeated and fighting rebels towards the great crevice as the two groups aggressively clash. The angel that saved him is smack in the middle of the chaos. _Aziraphale._

 _They knew_ , he thought bitterly. _Lucifer was so clever, he was so sure of himself, but he never saw this coming. A single command, that’s all it took._

Makers weren’t expected to fight, but Aziraphale was. He dutifully draws his sword, even as the sorrow - swirling with pity, grief and wretched heartache - fills him completely. His grace warbles with the emotions and his vision blurs slightly. Many angels are already engaged in combat, but the fire on his sword doesn’t ignite, not until Michael glares briefly at him and then at the sword, fueling it with her own rage. 

“Fight on behalf of the Almighty, Aziraphale!” She commands.

The principality sways as he looks around. His hands tremble and he chokes out a sob.

“I _can’t."_

__________________________________________________________________________

“What do you mean you _can’t?”_ Azira asked, voice full of disbelief. 

The angel shrugged. “I dunno. They told us it’s a demon thing. Nobody ever said why. Angels just… don’t turn into beasts.”

The demon smirked. “Not with _that_ attitude.”

“You know what I mean. I’ve never seen it happen, not once in all eternity.”

“Have you ever tried?”

“Have I _ever tried-_ oh- okay, yeah, let me just will my corporeal form into the shape of an animal. Just slither right on up to heaven and say ‘hey guys, look what I can do!’ I’m sure that would go over _great_.” The angel retorted, disparaging. “Trying new things is not exactly encouraged back home.”

“But it’s _fun._ ”

“What, trying new things?”

“No. Well, yes, but I meant taking on a different form,” Azira explained. “It’s fun.”

“Your animal aspect is a…” The angel snapped his fingers a few times, trying to remember the animal names Adam had only just invented a few days ago, “A turtle! Big shell, slow as anything-”

“Adam actually called me a _tortoise,_ ” Azira corrected huffily.

“What’s the difference?” 

“ ... I don’t actually know,” the demon admitted.

A laugh, and, “Whatever. My point is, it doesn’t seem like it can do very much or go very fast. What could possibly be so fun about it?”

“It’s just… different,” Azira holds up an arm, the late afternoon sun lighting up his skin and making it glow. “I can feel the sun on my skin like this, and it feels one way. The sun on the back of my shell feels different. Kind of… primal, in a way. Animal aspects have instincts that the human-y bodies don’t. They see differently and smell differently, too.” He looks up from studying the light hairs on his arm and sees golden eyes doing the same. He drops his arm, the eyes follow and then flick back up to his face.

“Did you... pick it out?”

It occurs to Azira all at once, even though they’d already been talking for some time... _this angel is different._ He’d encountered a few angels as creation was being finished up, as the demons that had been less damaged made their way to the surface, trying to interrupt God's plan. The angels always responded the same. Disdain. Hissed threats and insults. Often following up on those threats. The worst were the ones who coldly dispatched you on sight.

They didn’t _talk_ to you.

“Kind of. You know, I just realized that I’ve been quite rude and haven’t asked you for your name,” Azira said quickly, watching the angel carefully. “Seems a bit unfair for you to know mine when I don’t know what to call you.”

The angel searched him, eyes squinting warily as if looking for a secret agenda. Azira tried to look as guileless as possible. It wasn’t that hard, he couldn’t really think of a way he could use an angel’s name against them.

“You don’t have any proof that I know your name,” the angel declared, looking away, maybe still unsure of how to answer, “maybe I have you mixed up with someone else.”

“I really don’t think that’s the case-”

“Maybe you hate it. Hate what it stands for, hate the person who gave it to you, and hate me for using it.” The angel rambled, fidgeting. “After all, that’s all they tell us demons are good for. Hate. Unforgivable, spiteful to the core - as if you weren’t angels once, just like us!” He stood abruptly, moving a few yards away, wings twitching. His shoulders rise and fall slowly as he takes a breath, trying to control himself.

“I was actually thinking ‘Azira’ has a nice ring to it,” the fair-haired demon says, purposefully casual. “Certainly nicer than what Beelzebub’s been calling me.”

Some tension leaks from the angel’s back, wings lowering just a little. 

“They were always bad at naming things,” he mumbles. Apparently having made a decision, the angel turns and folds his legs back underneath him. He isn’t sitting as close as he was, but he’s facing Azira and starting to relax again.

“You can call me Crawley,” He says, “and I think I’d like to be a serpent.”


	3. The Knowledge Of Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruswan saunters after them in feigned disinterest as the couple excitedly show Azira the many fruits and vegetables available to them in the garden. Adam proudly shares his names for the different foods, each of which Azira repeats with a seriousness that says he’s actually committing them to memory. Ruswan finds it obnoxiously charming.
> 
> They’ve visited nearly every plant when Azira looks up at the tree in the middle of the garden with wide tapered green leaves, covered in white flowers and heavy with round yellow-green fruit. 
> 
> “Oh, I have to try _that._ ”
> 
> Adam and Eve glance at each other awkwardly, and the angel looks up to follow Azira’s gaze, lifting his brows in recognition as the demon turns to stare at the humans and then at Ruswan, confusion apparent in his face.
> 
> “Uh, that’s the one God said they couldn’t eat from.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As early as 1661, Jean-Baptiste de La Quintinie, lawyer and botanist, responsible for the gardens of the Versailles palace and passionate about the cultivation of pears, wrote in reports: _“It must be confessed that, among all fruits in this place, nature does not show anything so beautiful nor so noble as this pear. It is pear that makes the greatest honor on the tables…”_

After the crevice closes up and the fallen angels ( _demons_ , the other angels say, _the beastly ones that don’t belong up here with us_ ) are stuck in the basement struggling to re-corporate themselves from the discarded designs and molecules in the pits and the sulfur pools, Ruswan ( _Crawley_ his mind provides, unbidden) finds himself at a loss. There was nothing left to make, and all that she planned to create has been created, with the exception of her ultimate and favorite thing: Adam himself. 

She places angels at the four gates of the garden in preparation, aware of Lucifer’s promise that the humans would betray her. That they would corrupt her beautiful creation, that _free will_ would mean they choose to destroy. That they would eventually fall into the hands of the fallen, the demons stripped of all that made them holy and loving, who would gloat and say “I told you so.”

One of the angels she chooses is Ruswan, who can’t help but ask her... _why?_

The makers’ jobs are over and they are being reassigned. But he wasn’t created to be a guardian. He doesn’t know how to defend the humans from evil. He wasn’t made to fight. 

And just this once, out of all the questions he has voiced (and the ones he hasn't voiced), She grants him an answer.

 **“There is nothing left for you to make in all of creation, but it is not yet finished,”** She explained. **“They will be makers, too. Just like you and so much more. _Inspire them._ ”**

And Ruswan, with a thousand more questions burning on his tongue, bites down on it hard and nods.

* * *

The dark wings deftly fold in on themselves, disappearing as the demon’s edges warble, blurry and unfocused. The vague outline of his anatomy shifts lower to the ground and new details solidify. Skin and cloth become gray-brown scales and scutes. Dark eyes blink open, only the faintest of their mottled orange-black coloration still visible. 

“Any questions?” Azira asks, his reptilian jaw moving slowly with the words, even if it didn’t quite match up. Ruswan doubts it is his physical throat that is creating the sounds. 

“Uh… you didn’t explain anything,” the angel complains. If a giant tortoise could look aghast, Azira does. Slowly. “Actually, I do have a question. Are you doing that on purpose?”

Azira lets his head drift smoothly away, pretending not to have heard and moving infuriatingly slow. Ruswan watches as the demon tortoise soaks up the last of the sunbeams that are making their way sideways through the leaves of the lush green trees. Soon the garden will dip into another mild, temperate night. The humans will probably ‘keep each other busy,’ for a while at least, before they inevitably drift off to sleep. 

Bored and a little impatient, Ruswan reaches out and nudges Azira. The stiff bulk of his shell is even sturdier than it looks, his weight barely shifts at all, his large clawed feet keeping him anchored solidly to the ground. 

“Just tell me where to start and I bet I can figure it out,” Ruswan insists, as Azira turns his head to regard him. The tortoise sighed. 

“The demons mostly had to work with whatever material was left over from creation,” he explained haltingly, “there was a lot of fighting over scraps. Some of the stronger ones stole materials from the maker angels, but most of us just grabbed what we could get. So to be honest, I’m not sure what you’ll have access to as a guardian.”

“Oh.” Ruswan said in realization. Azira, mistaking the sound for disappointment, blurs and expands back into his taller form and pulls his hands up into the air nervously.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have gotten your hopes up, I-”

Ruswan can’t help but laugh. He leans forward and pulls a small string of essence out of the universe, feeding it up through his being and forming a perfect little fig in the center of his palm. Azira gapes. The angel feels a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Making things was always thrilling, but Azira’s reaction makes it feel like _more,_ somehow. 

“Take it,” Ruswan offers. Azira’s mottled irises are practically sparkling.

“You’re a maker?” He asks, tentatively touching the small fruit, like it will disintegrate beneath his fingers. The angel impatiently takes his hand and turns it face up, dropping the fig in it without reverence. 

“I am. I imagine that makes things simpler, then?”

“You have every material and blueprint in the universe at your fingertips. You really could be anything you want,” Azira says, awed, testing the give of the fig’s outer skin. He pauses, then, “Why a serpent?”

“Well, why not?”

“There are even demons who didn’t want serpent shapes. Something about the lack of legs or how only some of them were venomous or what-have-you. Of course, most of them didn’t want tortoise shapes either, but I like to think-”

“I designed them.” Ruswan interrupts, staring at the ground self-consciously and fiddling with a blade of grass.

“Tortoises?” Azira asks, confused.

“Tort-!” Ruswan is shaken from his aloofness to look up at Azira and exclaim, “No, of course not tortoises. I don’t know who made those, but no, I designed _snakes_.” 

“Well then,” Azira said, considering, “this should be easy for you, shouldn’t it?”

It actually was fairly simple. After a moment of concentration, his wings folded into his essence like fractals, each feather stored away like a bit of data. The corporation he wore did much the same, pulling back smoothly piece by piece as he pulled a thread of matter from a nearby galaxy and spun it into place. It followed a blueprint he’d designed himself, weaving around the coil of his essence. Bone and sinew, muscle and scales expanded and flexed as his blurry human form was fully filed away. 

When he was done, when the final stitch was pulled tight and the thread snipped, his essence uncoiled like a spring, becoming a rope that stretched out as his reptilian body unwound. His awareness moved slowly, filling him up and shifting outwards. 

It did feel different. The earth below him radiated stored warmth from the sun even as the air around them cooled, and he pressed his belly flat against it. 

His translucent eyelids slid back, letting in more light from the setting sun, colors shifted slightly to the left. The sky was a deep blue shifting into a vibrant color, something beyond purple his human form hadn’t been able to see. The setting sun was no longer orange, but a mix of yellow and ultraviolet. Vertical pupils penetrated the dark like it was nothing, the colors he could see jumping out at him from patterns he hadn't noticed. 

The shapes of the plants and animals were clearest when they moved, and without his knowing it, his head began to slowly list from side to side; a slow and steady rhythm that synced up with the beat of his large three-chambered heart.

A voice in the background stirred him from his observations, and a wave of panic took him over briefly as he worried that his human corporation was lost forever. His essence twisted, rolling over the form he had stored, like a person desperately turning something over in their pocket to make sure it hadn't changed. His snake body shifted to mirror his internal motion. He bumped up against something soft, and warm hand settled on his spine.

“Woah, you’re alright, I didn’t mean to startle you,” the voice soothed.

Ruswan opened his mouth to speak, a sibilant breath passing through his throat as he abruptly realized he couldn’t, simultaneously distracted by the flex of his fangs and the give of his jaw. 

“Use your essence, dear.” Ruswan-the-snake turned to look at the demon. Azira’s voice was full of patience and his face pinched in barely-contained delight, his nose scrunching up with joy. He didn’t look like a demon savoring the results of a temptation. Without thinking, Ruswan touched his essence to the demon’s hand where it gently covered his scales. He felt a flash of happiness and pride before Azira jerked his hand away and into his other one, rubbing them together and laughing nervously.

“S-s-s-sorry,” Ruswan says, manipulating the air in his throat, squeezing it with his essence and forcing it to cooperate. The hiss was something he would need to work on. “Didn’t think…”

“Don’t be, you just surprised me,” Azira said, glancing at Ruswan and then away again. The scales Azira’s hand had covered felt cold now. “How do you feel?”

“You were right, s’different.” He wiggled his length a little bit, the warmth of the earth only going so far to keep him comfortable, reveling in the feel of the muscles that bunched and released down the length of his body. He had to have imagined Azira’s eyes tracking the movement - it was hard to see him properly when he was sitting so still.

“Told you so.” Azira said, grinning. “I guess angels can turn into beasts, after all.”

“I’m not a beast, I’m a magnificent creation," he declared petulantly. His ‘s’ sounds still caught slightly as he spoke, but they were much less noticeable now. _Better_ , he thought.

“That you are, Crawley.” 

Azira said it fondly, but Ruswan tripped over the name. He had told Azira to call him that, but he wasn’t really sure why. Some kind of retribution, aimed at himself, for what was and what could have been, he supposed. But now it felt less like self-punishment and more like he’d shorted Azira in some way. It felt like a lie and a truth all wrapped up into one word.

“I don’t know if I like that name,” he said hesitantly, and Azira looks over at him knowingly. He might not remember anything, Ruswan thought, but he likely knew the name sounded less than angelic and had decided not to say anything. “Especially in this form. It sounds very... crawling-at-your-feet-ish.” 

He didn’t say anything about the impressions of memories that pressed up against him when he heard it. The handsome jaw that turned in his direction when he quietly asked questions, sharp eyes lit with interest. The hushed complaints and scornful jokes. The essence that touched his own, amplifying the doubt he had carefully hidden away inside his coils. He had forgotten so much, but he remembered enough that the name made him uncomfortable.

He expected Azira to ask again. Maybe make a snide comment about how he could tell him his _real name_ now. Express some form of sarcasm or distrust or resentment. He slithered in on himself in tense anticipation. 

“I’m sure you’ll come up with something better,” Azira said instead, beaming at him, “with an imagination like yours.”

* * *

When the sun dipped too low and the desert chill became too much to be reptiles any longer, both angel and demon put their animal forms away and spread their wings out, content to continue talking. Azira jokingly suggested new names for Ruswan to consider, who rejected all of them and felt lighter than he had in ages. The angel described heaven and explained what all he knew about the plan for the earth after it became clear that, far from bothering the fallen angel, Azira was actively interested in relearning some of the things he had forgotten. Ruswan was happy to indulge him. 

And if Azira, at some point, reached out a hand and placed it on his shoulder, tentatively brushing their essences together, then that wasn’t any of heaven’s business. It left no doubt about the honesty behind his questions, the novelty of a demonic being that seemed to have little to no ill intent... just the endless hunger of wanting more. The desire for more time, more conversation, and more earthly delights - many of which didn't even exist yet, but Azira was hungry for them all the same.

Ruswan couldn’t have suspected the demon of tricking him even if he was absolutely determined to. And he wasn’t determined to mistrust Azira, because trusting him seemed to come as naturally as being. He could even feel Azira holding his essence back, not wanting to pry or accidentally take anything that wasn’t offered to him. And when he moved to pull his hand away, Ruswan quickly pressed into it with his own to hold it there for a moment more.

Essences didn’t have color, but they gave off impressions sometimes. Azira’s was burnt brown by the fires of hell, the fibers a little singed, maybe, but still soft. Ruswan’s coils, usually tight and golden-red with effort, loosened with a gentle pulse; he gave Azira his heavenly name. It came with the understanding of _This is what they call me,_ and _This isn’t a name I want, but I want you to know it anyway, in case you hear it from someone else,_ and a quiet _My new name will be just for you._

Azira sucked a breath he didn’t need between his teeth and breathed out “Thank you,” as his hand slid out from under Ruswan’s. He avoided the angel’s stare and started as he looked up at the sky for what felt like the first time that night. It was getting progressively lighter as the sun rose in front of them, just starting to send rays of light over the eastern gate. 

“Blazes,” he said, remembering himself. He was a demon. He had a job to do. “I have to find the humans.”

“They should be awake and stirring by now. Probably hungry, their mortal bodies seem to need to eat constantly to stay satisfied.” Ruswan was being purposefully casual, standing and brushing off his form, not looking at Azira.

“You’ve mentioned food,” Azira perked up and also stood, doing a little full-body wiggle that ended at the tips of his feathers. “It sounds very interesting.”

A deep voice and an answering giggle came from behind some nearby vegetation, and Ruswan shrugged. “Come on, then.”

They followed Adam and Eve down a path through the thick vegetation, at a respectful distance. The humans look over at the pair of celestial beings as they entered the orchard near the middle of the garden, distracted from choosing which fruit to eat by the sounds of a conversation. 

“For the _last time_ , not every angel is given a flaming sword.”

“Do you want to borrow mine?” Azira asks innocently, pulling a gleaming blade from behind his back, holding it upside down at the hilt so that it’s pointed at the ground.

“Wha- _where were you even keeping that?_ ”

Eve giggled and poked a finger at Adam, who chuckled at their apparently shared inside joke. Ruswan regarded them suspiciously. Eve gestured at Azira and said something to Adam, smiling as the demon quickly put his sword away. They didn’t appear concerned by Azira’s presence, only curious. He gives them a very cheerful wave and a bright smile, “Hello there! What were you planning on eating for breakfast?”

Ruswan saunters after them in feigned disinterest as the couple excitedly show Azira the many fruits and vegetables available to them in the garden, all of them miraculously perfectly ripe and filling the air with their pungent scents and flavors. Eve breaks open a pomegranate and shows him the many jewel-like fruits inside, encouraging him to try one and laughing when his eyes go wide at the surprisingly strong flavor. 

“I see you got away with recycling ideas,” Azira teases, holding up a peach and a nectarine, virtually identical other than the fuzzy skin.

“What? No, those are _so_ different--”

“Did you copy someone’s homework?”

“ _Angels don’t_ ** _plagiarize,_** ” Ruswan huffs.

“Yet somehow, there’s only one citrus, and it doesn’t even taste very good.” Azira pouts.

“Now _listen_ -”

It goes on like this for a while, with Adam or Eve offering bites to Azira and sometimes Ruswan, who politely declines most of them. Adam proudly shares his names for the different foods, each of which Azira repeats with a seriousness that says he’s actually committing them to memory. Ruswan finds it obnoxiously charming.

They’ve visited nearly every plant when Azira looks up at the tree in the middle of the garden with wide tapered green leaves, branches covered in white flowers and heavy with round yellow-green fruit. 

“Oh, I have to try _that_.”

Adam and Eve glance at each other awkwardly, and the angel looks up to follow Azira’s gaze, lifting his brows in recognition as the demon turns to stare at the humans and then at Ruswan, confusion apparent in his face.

“Uh, that’s the one God said they couldn’t eat from.”

“What? Why not?” Azira asks, baffled. Ruswan shrugs.

“Something about it being the tree of the knowledge of good and evil? She didn’t really explain, just said they could eat from any of the trees but that one.” 

“Isn’t the knowledge of good and evil basically just... the knowledge of everything?” Azira asks.

The angel plucks an apple off a nearby tree just to have something to roll around in his hands, tempted to turn back into a snake but not wanting to scare the humans. “I suppose so. I assume it’s stuff we already know, since Angels are supposed to be good and Demons are supposed to be evil, so surely we know the difference already? Seems kind of silly, if you ask me. Putting a forbidden tree in the middle of the garden. Why not put it on top of a mountain? Or on the moon?” He takes a bite out of the apple.

“Kind of makes you wonder what She’s really planning,” Azira says thoughtfully, keeping his eyes on Ruswan. The angel makes a face.

“Not for us to understand. Her ‘Great Plan’ is _ineffable_. Or at least, that’s what they told me whenever I asked. I finally just… stopped asking.”

Azira eyebrows furrow and he opens his mouth, but is interrupted by the rustle of a branch, and both of them turn just in time to see Eve take a bite out of one of the forbidden fruits. She stares back at them, chewing slowly. She swallows and blinks, then turns to Adam and places the fruit in his hand. He studies it for a second, then looks into her eyes. 

“A pear.” He says, and takes a bite. He looks back at the divine beings. The humans were intelligent, before. Clever, even. But this was something different.

Ruswan wasn’t sure it was the fruit itself that was special. _Maybe,_ he thinks, rebelliously, _maybe it’s about the choice._


End file.
